


Ticket to You

by everythingafter



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingafter/pseuds/everythingafter
Summary: The problem with grand gestures, Rachel thinks, is that they can almost feel too grand. Like one single Metro North ticket from New York to New Haven, hidden in a side table drawer. What makes a moment worthy of a trip that can decide whether Quinn stays in her life? She’s not sure, so she keeps the ticket hidden away, waiting for the moment. It comes unexpectedly, but it changes everything after. AU past graduation; Quinn is at Yale, Rachel is at NYADA.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Comments: 26
Kudos: 131





	1. What If This Is All the Love You Ever Get?

_“What if this is all the love I'm ever shown?_

_I'd not be so scared to run into the unknown.”_

-Snow Patrol 

* * *

Rachel Berry, on account of who she is as a person, is very rarely unsure of herself. She prides herself in her confidence, in fact, since the time she took the makeshift stage in front of her dads and belted her first solo. Counting beyond that, she thinks, she’s been truly unsure of herself on a handful of occasions. And, yet. 

She sits, relaxed, on her living room couch while her roommates, Santana and Kurt, debate about something that undoubtedly has less to do with the actual topic at hand and more to do with their need to go head to head at least once a week. She never expected to find herself with the two of them as roommates, but sans the drunken “Friday Night Debates” as she’s begun to lovingly call them, they genuinely coexist in peace, and at this point they even manage to rarely bring up the topic of— 

“—high school.” 

Rachel snaps her head in the direction of Santana, who is suddenly leaned forward on the reclining chair in the direction of the couch. Her eyes are glued to Rachel, expecting a response. “ _Shit,_ ” she thinks, having totally zoned out. It’s not entirely her fault; her class schedule has been crazy busy near the end of the semester, and she just wrapped up another off-Broadway audition following a dance performance exam and a music theory class that makes her head pound. Luckily, she pulls it together quickly, snapping to attention. “Sorry, what about high school?” 

Santana just rolls her eyes, but it no longer intimidates Rachel. She just stares back, expecting an explanation, but it’s actually Kurt who jumps in first. “We were comparing our high school gaydars. Not that you’d have one, Rachel.” He smirks and takes a sip of his wine, a simple Chardonnay. 

Rachel, for her part, is quick to take the bait. “Kurt, you better than anyone— except maybe Santana— would know that I have an excellent gaydar. It comes from my dads; it’s genetic.”

Santana laughs. “Dude, it can’t be genetic. At least not from both of them, and let’s be real. There’s no way Shelby Corcoran is carrying that weapon in her straight, uptight Suburban mom arsenal.” She glances quickly but subtly at Rachel, making sure she isn’t stung by the reference. If she is, she doesn’t make it noticeable-- just adjusts her legs until they’re crossed and turns her head to Kurt. 

“I have to agree with Santana. I know that ‘Born This Way’ was a beautiful moment for my baby gay self, but if gaydar really ran in the family, my dad wouldn’t be pointing out every guy in New York as a potential candidate for my hand in marriage.” Kurt laughs through a grimace. 

Santana nods, suddenly thoughtful. “Hummel has a point, for _once._ Besides, if Britts has taught me anything, it’s that we can all find love in anyone. Just has to be right.” Her eyes gloss over, but then she seems to snap right back. “The sex, I mean. If you go at it like bunnies, then who cares about all that other shit?”

Rachel knows that Santana is mostly posturing, because that girl has known she was a lesbian for longer than she’s willing to admit. Still, she finds herself thinking about her dads and her mom, who she tries to forget more often than not. If she were gay like Santana, would Shelby know? For the first time in a while, her mind wanders to Beth, who must be a fully functional toddler by now. How time flies. She must be growing into herself by now, a tiny version of Quinn and Puck making her place in the world known to many. Rachel can’t imagine it any other way. 

xx

When the three roommates are settled in the corners of their New York apartment later that night, Rachel can’t quite shake the thoughts of Beth. Only, in her mind, Beth has the striking green eyes of her mother. Quinn. To this day, the name does something to Rachel. It’s not like they aren’t in contact, but it’s almost like they’ve reverted back to acquaintances at best. Understandable, and a vast improvement from high school, but not by much. They may not be at each other’s throats, but Rachel finds herself missing the blonde from those days anyway. 

Making sure to turn as quietly as possible in her bed, but still flinching when her squeaky bed frame gives her away, Rachel grabs her phone from her nightstand. The blue light is almost too much for her tired (and slightly tipsy) eyes, but she turns down the brightness quickly and feels wide awake.

She scrolls down her last few messages, making sure she hasn’t missed anything important. A few texts in the Glee Club group chat, but nothing relevant to her. A text from Finn, asking her how she’s doing for the second time that week, that she ignores after a second of hesitation. Some messages from classmates, and a reminder about an upcoming audition. Rachel Berry’s high school self would be quick to respond, but senior-in-college Rachel likes to think she’s set up better boundaries for herself. Sometimes, maybe. 

Frowning when she realizes the texts may be too far down to reach, Rachel finally pulls up a new message thread to send. Her fingers slip a bit— a product of the wine, she’s sure— but she manages to type in a name: Quinn. 

**Rachel:** _Hey, you._

She groans, even as she sends the message. _Way to be chill, Berry,_ Santana’s voice bounces around in her brain. She shuts down the thought when a text comes back through. 

**Quinn:** _Rachel. It’s nice to hear from you. Is everything okay?_

 **Rachel:** _Of course!! Never better! Why do you ask?_

 **Quinn:** _No reason… it’s just 1 in the morning. I’m surprised you’re awake._

Rachel, despite herself, laughs. Things have definitely changed since high school’s six o’clock elliptical routine. She finds herself explaining herself in a similar fashion. 

**Quinn:** _Of course. I would imagine things have changed. Rachel Barbra Berry, always destined for New York greatness. Does that happen to include… champagne on a Friday?_

 **Rachel:** _Quinn Fabray! How could you? I’d never drink champagne over Pinot._

Rachel bites her hand to keep herself from laughing even harder at Quinn’s response. 

**Quinn:** _Well, whatever it is, it’s clearly helping you survive living with Satan herself._

Quinn and Santana have stayed quite close since McKinley, but in most contexts no one would know. Rachel is only aware because each Debate Night Friday is followed by pancake breakfast on Saturdays, which is only stalled by Santana’s quick updates to Quinn over the phone. Rachel tries not to eavesdrop, to be fair, but it’s difficult when the three of them have doors that are glorified curtains. 

**Rachel:** _Dear god, you have no idea. She’s… better, but also insatiable since Brittany’s been dancing on tour. Come deal with your best friend._

 **Quinn:** _Hey, she’s your roommate, Berry. Not mine. Although, at least I can say she’s come to visit me._

Rachel hesitates to respond. Is that a slight? Is it directly at her? She forgoes turning on her lamp to dig around in her side table, looking for something in particular. A couple of bills, a bottle of sleeping pills (she should really take one to settle her mind), and finally, an envelope. In the time it takes her to find what she’s looking for, Quinn has already sent a follow-up message.

 **Quinn:** _I’m actually glad you reached out. There’s a theater thing next Friday on campus, and I thought you might be interested. If you want to take the trip, that is._

Already, Rachel is drawing the ticket out of the envelope. One ticket from New York to New Haven. On the Metro North. Sitting in her drawer for three years. She’s never quite known when to cash in the offer. It’s a strange feeling, Rachel thinks. Does Quinn even remember the gesture from four years ago? Things were so different then. Either way, she grips her phone tightly in her hand when she responds.

 **Rachel:** _Yes!! Why not?_

Even as she types the question, Rachel knows the answer. One ticket. One trip on the Metro, from New York to New Haven. One chance. Maybe it’s not what Quinn meant, but the message was received. She hopes she’s using it for the right moment. What if this is all she gets?


	2. Reaching Out to You

_“Through these deranged horizons_

_I'm still reaching out to you”_

_\- Snow Patrol_

* * *

Not for the first time in her life, Quinn Fabray finds herself in a predicament. At the current moment, she’s lying on her bed, sprawled out with her legs hanging over the frame, and wondering just what she’s gotten herself into. 

Granted, she gifted Rachel the ticket for a reason. She did genuinely want to see the brunette following graduation, and knew that words would simply not be enough to mend the bridge between them. She couldn’t just offer up a visit, because Rachel would have never considered the gesture to be genuine. Instead, she had to go and purchase a physical representation of her desire to get to know Rachel outside of the tragedy that was McKinley High. 

She doesn’t regret it, she thinks… but it’s something to wonder about when three years have passed without a visit. She’s been to New York, of course, to visit Santana and sometimes even Kurt. A few times, Rachel’s even met them for a coffee in between her previous commitments. But every time Santana came to visit Quinn in New Haven-- there were many of these circumstances, as Santana had at least her semesterly breakdown about the difficulties of navigating her pre-law program while being long distance with Brittany-- Rachel found a reason to stay home. 

Quinn tries hard to not think about what that means. Surely, Rachel’s just busy. She’s an up-and-coming Broadway success, she’s sure of it, even though the girl hasn’t graduated yet. Quinn wouldn’t be surprised if Rachel made it to the stage immediately after graduation with that talent. The same talent used to make her jealous, but now just warms her from the inside when she thinks about it. If anyone deserves success, it’s Rachel Berry, and even now it comes so late. She considers them both lucky to have made it out of high school, out of Lima, and into the rest of her life. 

Her life. 

The one that Rachel is about to infiltrate again. In less than a week. It all feels so sudden, and Quinn is entirely unsure why she feels so flustered thinking about the visit. The message from Rachel came unexpectedly last night, while Quinn leaned over her desk, jotting down an outline for her newest class project. She hadn’t even realized the time until the text tone came through, jolting her from her thoughts.

If she’s being honest, she probably could guess Rachel’s inebriated state before it’s confirmed. This isn’t the first time she’s been on the receiving end of tipsy messages, but it’s been a bit since the last time. Five months, she counts, scrolling back to their last conversation. 

Quinn tries to chalk it up to the late night that she offers for Rachel to come stay, but even as she ponders the logic of her own claim, she knows it isn’t entirely true. She misses the girl, and besides, she knows the “theater thing” she offered to take Rachel to will end up in an excited, surprised, and gushing response. She smiles to herself. Truly, no one can bring the dramatics like Rachel. 

Almost absentmindedly, Quinn feels around on her duvet for her cell phone. She finds it under her pillow, as usual after a late night of brainstorming, and opens up her messages to Rachel. 

**Quinn:** _Good morning, sunshine. ;)_

She sucks in a breath as soon as the message is sent. It’s meant as a joke, knowing Rachel may be feeling the effects of the alcohol in her usual early morning routine, but she’s not sure how it’ll be received. 

Luckily, in that exact moment, her roommate chooses to bust into her room, Quinn tenses for a moment, but relaxes quickly, used to Mia’s antics. Back in freshman year, if anyone had told Quinn her roommate would somehow end up being the spawn of Brittany and Rachel, she would have laughed. Yet, here she is, still living with the black-haired girl, and enjoying (mostly) every second of it. 

“Quinn!” Mia’s introduction is brief before she launches herself on the bed, narrowly missing the body already placed there. 

Quinn’s quick to laugh in response. “It’s kind of an early morning for you, isn’t it?” 

A sly smile slides onto Mia’s face. “That assumes I’ve been asleep already.” 

Quinn just shoves her off the bed in return. “Go get your beauty sleep, weirdo. You can bother me when you have at least four hours in you.” Mia is an incredible artist, and has been known to dedicate hours upon end to mastering her craft, very similarly to one Rachel Berry. The difference between the two, Quinn’s figured, is that Mia still manages to have the energy and childlike wonder of Brittany S. Pierce. To be honest, Quinn couldn’t imagine a better combination, which is why they’ve lived so well together. As an added bonus, the two have always been able to read into each other’s needs. Mia’s been there when Quinn struggled with loneliness after cutting ties to her parents sophomore year, and Quinn makes sure Mia remembers to sleep… and eat… and drink water... in between her creative bursts. Somehow, it balances out. 

By the time Quinn blinks, Mia is up and ready to go again. She winks at Quinn and turns on her heel to leave. Before she gets out the door, however, Quinn is reminded of something. 

“Hey, M. Just a heads up that someone is coming to stay next weekend.” 

Mia looks a little surprised, but she’s still smiling. “Sanny’s always welcome. You didn’t need to tell me that, but thanks anyway Quinnie.” 

Biting her lip, Quinn shakes her head. “No, um… It’s actually another friend. Rachel.” 

At that, Mia literally jumps into the air. “ _The_ Rachel Berry? The one you always talk about? The talented, beautiful, wonderful Rachel?”, she asks. Even though these are all just words she’s used to describe Rachel to Mia, Quinn blushes. 

“That one. She’s coming for the theater production next Friday.”

“You mean… the one you wrote?” 

If Quinn expects a sly comment from her roommate, she doesn’t act surprised when Mia just continues, “I bet she’ll really love it.” 

Ever the kind heart. 

When Mia’s left to ruin her sleep schedule once again, Quinn picks up her phone again, forgotten by her spread of blonde hair near the pillow. Her heart beats a bit faster when she sees Rachel’s name on the screen. 

**Rachel:** _Shut it, Quinn. I’ll have you know I’m not THAT hungover. You should see the other guys._

 **Quinn:** _I’d love to, but by other guys, you mean Kurt, right? At this point, Santana could down a bottle of whiskey and still write a paper for class before midnight._

 **Rachel:** _She really could, and she definitely has. Kurt’s walking around with sunglasses, though. Are we getting old already?_

 **Quinn:** _Don’t jinx it. You have to stay young. I haven’t even had the chance to see you on Broadway yet._

And then, quick on her feet, Quinn writes a follow-up message. 

**Quinn:** _Speaking of, you_ were _sober enough to remember your promise to visit me next weekend, right?_

 **Rachel:** _Hmmm. I don’t know. Can I hear the formal request again?_

 **Quinn:** _Rachel._

 **Rachel:** _Quiiiiinn._

 **Quinn:** _Fine. Rachel Barbra Berry, will you do me the honor of accompanying me to the theater in a week’s time?_

 **Rachel:** _Why, I never thought you’d ask._

 **Quinn:** _Yes, you did. I asked you yesterday._

 **Rachel:** _Whatever. I accept your proposal, Quinn Fabray. I shall travel by train and arrive at 4pm. Will my chauffeur be there to collect me?_

 **Quinn:** _It depends. Will the lady speak normally upon arrival?_

 **Rachel:** _The lady could. The lady might._

 **Quinn:** _The lady_ should _, if she wants to make it back to my place._

 **Rachel:** _I can’t wait to see your home! And you!_

Quinn finds herself grinning once again at the phone she’s holding over her head. Leave it to Rachel to go from dramatic to sweet and bubbly in a matter of seconds. All these years, and it still makes Quinn’s heart swell up and fill all of the empty space she otherwise tries to forget about. 

_Quinn: Looking forward to it, Rachel. I hope you still have your ticket. I’ll see you soon._

* * *

**Author's Note:** Please consider leaving your thoughts, feedback, ideas, etc. :) It's been quite a while since I've written fanfiction, so comments are greatly appreciated and help me decide the direction of the story. 


	3. Life on Earth

_ “This is always the way home _

_ So you can rip that map to shreds, my dear” _

_ -Snow Patrol _

* * *

Back at the loft, Rachel barely has time to overthink her upcoming trip to New Haven. She’d already planned on keeping herself distracted, but the universe decides to throw her a bone in the way of an even busier schedule than usual. Normally, she’d be tired of the constant commitments, especially considering the excessive modern dance class expectations by the one and only Cassandra July. She thought she’d be used to it by now after taking at least one class a year with the woman, but that proves to be untrue. In between all of the class time, she finds herself in the dance studio at least an hour or two each day, still determined to show Ms. July that she is capable of far more than her initial expectations. 

The back and forth can be exhausting to say the least, which is exactly what Rachel needs. Each night, she drags herself into the apartment at 8pm on the dot, kisses Kurt’s cheek, lovingly rolls her eyes at Santana, and immediately disappears behind her bedroom curtain. She considers herself lucky to have the roommates she has, because anyone else would probably question her chaotic lifestyle, but they know each other well enough to be understanding of each other’s quirks. For Santana, that’s the law school breakdowns and sporadic Lima Heights adjacent outbursts at various classmates. For Kurt, it’s leaving the apartment in absolute disarray with his various fashion projects. For Rachel, it’s… generally throwing herself into her work and depending on Santana’s meal prepping to survive. The Latina, for being as fierce as she’s perceived, is generally the mother of the household, but the other two know never to mention it in fear of being verbally butchered in response. Even if she always takes the extra time to prepare vegan meals in addition to her own meat-containing versions. 

That’s why it’s unsurprising when, on Wednesday night, Santana peeks behind Rachel’s curtain before slipping into the room with two tupperware containers of steaming stir fry. What is surprising is when she takes a seat on Rachel’s bed, quick to lean back against the wall with her feet up on the yellow comforter. She hands one to Rachel before immediately funneling her own food into her mouth. 

“Santana! I swear one day you’re going to choke. Hasn’t anyone ever told you to slow down?”

Santana eyes Rachel when she says, “I’m sure you know the answer to that. This apartment doesn’t absorb any sound.” Rachel’s cheeks flush, but she wisely chooses not to respond, which gives Santana the room to continue after a few minutes of the two of them eating in silence. 

“So, taking the trek to Fabray’s this weekend, huh?”

Rachel’s barely recovered from blushing the first time, but she’s not prepared for the question. Luckily, she’s able to hide her face behind the hand with her fork. “Apparently. Did Quinn tell you?”

“She did. I told her I couldn’t believe she’d invite Rachel Berry over Santana Lopez to the first play she’s written for an actual audience. I mean, really missed out on the opportunity for a hot date.” 

Santana’s comment is lost on Rachel, who finds herself stuck on the first part. “...Wait? Quinn’s play? It’s  _ Quinn’s _ ?” she shrieks. 

Santana covers her ears, flinching. “Jesus, Berry! Bring it down a notch. We still have neighbors… and, you know, Hummel’s fragile ass. You didn’t know it was her play? Why else would she invite you?” 

Rachel ponders the question before responding, gently shaking her head. “Honestly, I don’t know. I was wondering that myself.”

The conversation suddenly feels as though it’s taken a serious turn, but neither of them are entirely sure why, although Santana thinks she has an idea. She sighs and leans her head on Rachel’s shoulder. “Listen. Q wants to see you. She wouldn’t ask you to come otherwise. Don’t overthink it.” She hesitates. "And don't tell her I told you it's hers. I'm sure she didn't expect me to open my big mouth." 

Rachel nods in response, but her head is taking advantage of the only break she’s given herself all week. All this time, and Quinn still manages to make her nervous. She really can’t say why, but she expects it has to do with the years of bullying, fighting, and stealing each other’s boyfriends. Not exactly a way to begin a friendship, to say the least. She knows in her heart that things changed senior year, but despite Quinn’s offering and change of heart, she still finds that the blonde can make her feel somehow more vulnerable and more powerful than anyone else.

xx

Rachel is still on edge, somehow, when she finishes up her last Friday class just in time for an early lunch, opts out of her extra dance practice for the day, and packs up her final toiletries in preparation for the trip. She likes to hope she’ll fall asleep on the train ride there, but it’s unlikely with the caffeine from two vanilla lattes flowing through her bloodstream. Also, she’s Rachel. She’s kidding herself if she thinks she’ll ever be good at napping when she could be doing literally anything else. 

Kurt is kind enough to accompany her to the train station, mostly because he knows he’ll get in an extra opportunity to share the ongoing gossip from his fashion program. Apparently, there’s something about two guys who started dating, but one was jealous because he noticed his boyfriend eyeing Kurt. Rachel, despite being a little distracted, can’t help but laugh at the idea, as if Kurt would ever really consider entertaining anyone other than Blaine. She mentions this to Kurt, who nods in agreement. 

“You know,” he says, “It’s amazing that I’m only interesting to guys when I’m seeing someone. All that time in high school before Blaine, and the only attention I got was from jocks carrying slushies.” 

“Kurt, you wore sweaters cut in half and animal broaches in Lima, Ohio.”

“That’s true. They just weren’t ready for my genius yet.” 

By the time the two get to the station, it’s almost time for Rachel to board her train, so she gives Kurt a quick hug, to which Kurt responds with a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t fall in love with Yale too much, Rachel. I need you back here soon, or Santana and I may actually end up both murdering each other.”

“How would that even work?” Rachel wonders aloud. 

“Don’t put it past us,” Kurt responds, eliciting a giggle from Rachel. 

“I’ll be back Sunday night. If I’m not, you can probably safely assume a different murder has occured.” 

Kurt gasps. “You’re right. Quinn has no idea what it’s like to live with you. She’ll be in for a shock.” Then, he takes a step back as Rachel flings her purse haphazardly in his direction, aiming for his torso. “Hey! You’re the one who acknowledged the possibility of murder.” 

“I did, but still.” 

“Still nothing. Have fun, though. I’ll be here… surviving… by myself… without you,” Kurt sighs dramatically. 

Rachel is just glad that Santana isn’t here to witness their melodrama. She smiles up at Kurt, and he squeezes her shoulder. “Text us when you make it there. Don’t miss your stop.” 

When her best friend turns on his heel to leave the station, Rachel pulls out her iPhone and earbuds, canceling out the sounds of the bustling station with the soundtrack to Spring Awakening. Then, she switches over to her text thread with Quinn. 

**Rachel:** _ Happy Friday!!! I’m just about to board. I hope you’re ready for this. Watch out, New Haven. Rachel Berry’s coming to Yale!!  _

**Quinn:** _ You really had too much coffee today, didn’t you?  _

**Rachel:** _ I’m offended that you don’t think this is my natural state. I would hope you’d remember more about me than that.  _

**Rachel:** _ … But yes. I’m ready for my third cup.  _

**Quinn:** _ Oh, I remember quite a bit. I made sure to prepare my roommate, even.  _

**Rachel:** _ Is she ready for me??  _

**Quinn:** _ She thinks she is. She is not. I am, though. Thank you for coming, Rachel, really.  _

Rachel feels warm at Quinn’s sudden gentleness. She’s used to the cheeky back and forth, but not so much this side of Quinn yet. It’s a long way from the sophomore year cheerleader she once knew. Still, she knows not to push her limits and scare the girl away. 

**Rachel:** _ The lady is looking forward to her visit, and must now prepare for travel.  _

**Quinn:** _ That’s it. Good luck finding my house without me. _

**Rachel:** _ Easy. I’ll just look for the one labeled “Quinn Fabray.”  _

**Quinn:** _ …  _

**Rachel:** _ Quinnnnnnn.  _

**Quinn:** _ ………….  _

**Rachel:** _See you soon :)_

**Quinn:** _ We’ll see, Berry.  _

xx

Of course, despite Quinn’s posturing, by the time the train pulls into the station in New Haven, the blonde has been sitting on one of the benches for at least half an hour. Rachel is the one to see her first, because even as the train loudly comes to a slightly screeching stop, she sees a blur of blonde hair leaning over a book, fully focused on whatever she’s reading. 

As Rachel dismounts the train with her rolling bag and purse, she notices why Quinn can’t hear her. Clearly, she’s blasting some music through her own earbuds, although Rachel guesses it’s probably not a musical soundtrack like hers. She thinks she’ll be able to sneak up on Quinn, but the shuffling of other passengers near the bench causes her to look up. At first, she looks a little confused and dazed, like she was deep into the world of her book before the disturbance and is trying to draw herself back into the real world. Rachel catches her looking around for her visitor, eyebrows furrowed a bit while she scans the terminal. Then, their eyes lock, and Rachel’s breath catches almost imperceptibly. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the intensity of that hazel gaze. 

Quinn is quick to her feet, carefully placing her bookmark while standing, but by the time she’s put one foot forward Rachel is already right in front of her. She smiles shyly, suddenly unsure of herself all over again. The hesitancy is for nothing, though, because then she feels arms around her and blonde hair is suddenly blocking her vision. They hug for only a moment, she’s sure, but it feels like much longer and much shorter at the same time. 

Luckily, Quinn is the first to pull back, if only to look her in the eyes again. “I missed your arrival,” she pouts, reaching down to grab a piece of paper from the back of her book. Rachel laughs when she sees the handmade sign, the name “Barbra” scribbled in Quinn’s writing. 

“No offense, but you may not make a great chauffeur after all,” Rachel jokes. 

“Wait till you see my driving skills. You’ll change your mind.” 

There’s a little bit of stiltedness to their jokes, now that they can’t hide behind their respective phone screens, but it’s honestly much less awkward than Rachel expected. She feels lucky to be here, in the presence of this grown-up, genuine version of Quinn. At that thought, she surprises Quinn with another hug by bouncing on her toes to reach her arms around the taller woman’s neck. She almost knocks them both to the ground, but Quinn, surprisingly strong as always, manages to steady them with half a step to the side. She laughs softly, her face leaning against the top of Rachel’s head. “What was that for?” 

Rachel smirks immediately. “In case we don’t survive the drive. Can’t say your track record is the best, Fabray.” 

“Wow. Fair, I guess, but damn.” For a moment, Rachel’s worried the joke has cut too deep, but she snaps out of it when Quinn flicks her arm. Before she even gets a chance to feign shock at the move, Quinn is grabbing her suitcase, the abandoned book, and her jacket, and strutting off in the direction of the parking lot. 

Rachel, for her part, just stares for a moment at the departing blonde, who eventually turns to look over her shoulder when she realizes she’s not being followed. “Come on, smalls. Gotta keep up.” 

She hopes she can.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much to those of you who have kept up with this story so far! The comments really make my day. I had some feedback for longer chapters, which is totally fair. I mean, forforever19 really spoils us all with their chapter lengths (shoutout to a truly awesome author). This one is a bit longer than the last, but still shorter than I expected. I wanted to make sure I got this out before the new year, though. Which reminds me: Happy new year! Here's to hoping for a better one. 


	4. Heal Me

_“I call out your name, it feels like a song I know so well_

_And it whispers and roars like an orchestra”_

_-Snow Patrol_

* * *

It’s a little after 4:30 by the time Quinn buys two coffees (a vanilla latte with oat milk for Rachel and a double-shot dirty chai for herself, which Rachel wrinkles her nose at) and packs up the car with Rachel’s rolling luggage. She opens Rachel’s car door without even thinking, then cocks her head when Rachel seems to hesitate and gives her a questioning, but thankful look, before she drops down gently into the passenger seat. Only when Rachel is settled and buckled does Quinn gently shut the door, hand hovering for a moment on the handle. 

When Quinn finally slides into the driver’s side, Rachel’s taking her first sip of the coffee they purchased at the station. The noise of approval that she makes is something Quinn hasn’t been used to hearing in a while— she’s always forgotten how vocal Rachel can be, and blushes a bit at that thought, because _what?_ She can’t help herself when she asks, “Good?” — and then promptly mentally beats herself up over the question. 

Luckily, Rachel seems too distracted by the caffeine intake to notice the interaction. “I mean, it’s train station coffee, but I’m honestly impressed.” She takes another sip and frowns a bit. “It’s also entirely likely that I’m just too tired to care.” 

Quinn laughs softly, tossing her hair to the side as she prepares for a sip of her own drink. “Not the type to take a nap on the train?”

Hand over her heart, Rachel gasps at Quinn. “Never. What if I start drooling? The Broadway tabloids could use that against me _forever_.” Her tone and general response is so indicative of high school Rachel that Quinn is thrown for a second, but there’s something different about Rachel now. Sure, she’s as dramatic as ever, but it seems to come with a more joking, lighthearted nature. Quinn hopes she’s reading that right, because she considers herself lucky to have seen that side of Rachel at least a few times before. 

“God forbid, the world would basically be over,” Quinn throws back, replicating Rachel’s dramatics, which earns her another gentle slap on the arm. “Tiny feisty woman,” she mumbles to herself, clearly loud enough for Rachel to hear. If she does, though, the only reaction she give is a small smirk. 

Before they pull out of the lot, Quinn fidgets with her phone for a minute, looking for the right music to put on as background noise. The drive is short, but the two know more than almost anyone how much music can do to cut through any potentially awkward silences. She considers a musical soundtrack or something more upbeat, but ends up shuffling her Snow Patrol discography instead. Predictable, but maybe not to Rachel. 

The trip back is spent in silence for the first few minutes, and Quinn realizes that Rachel’s simply taking the time to listen to the lyrics of the first song she’s put on. “Do you know them?,” she asks, waving her right hand in the general direction of the stereo system. 

Rachel thinks for a moment. “Maybe,” she starts. “I think I know a couple of their songs.” 

Quinn nods. “They’re my favorite right now.” It’s such a small piece of information she’s offered up, but Rachel seems to latch on to every word. 

The car’s tires crunch on gravel as they pull into Quinn’s driveway only a few minutes later, and she finds herself surprised at how quickly the moment— just the two of them, in the car, breathing the same air and listening to the gentle vocals of Snow Patrol — is over. It’s almost melancholic until Rachel says, “I’d love to hear more of their music,” eliciting a wide grin that Quinn doesn’t even try to suppress. She’s loved music well before joining Glee club, but was generally limited to the pop and Christian music she was expected to listen to by her peers and family respectively, until her rebellious phase when suddenly she couldn’t care less what anyone thought. Now, whenever anyone shows even an inkling of interest in her music taste, she knows she can quickly launch into an endless spiel. And, well, when it’s Rachel Berry who’s asking… 

“Sure, but be careful what you wish for,” she laughs, then makes it out of the car to open Rachel’s door before the girl can even think about doing it herself. Then, Rachel’s suitcase rolling along in one hand and her book in the other, she guides them both to the front door. 

xx

Back in high school, someone (Quinn can’t quite remember who, but it’s totally possible it was Santana) started a dialogue when she openly pondered what Rachel Berry was like outside of school. Obviously, the conversation was anything but kind. Some cheerleaders brought up the idea of inviting her to a sleepover, just to see what kind of quirky behaviors Rachel would exhibit in front of her peers. At the time, Quinn couldn’t come up with anything especially harmful to say. Instead, she just imagined an excited girl, bouncing around, touching everything, asking questions, and wanting to be involved. 

It’s not a particularly harmful expectation, and something anyone could guess based on the singer’s personality, but everything Quinn expects to understand quickly unravels when she and Rachel enter her home. If anything, Rachel is… shy, which would be off-putting if it weren’t so sweet. 

Quinn watches as Rachel’s gaze scans the home, taking in the mismatched mid-century modern furniture taking up so much of the living room. She glances at the kitchen, partially visible from the living room, and finally down the direction of the hallway that leads to the bathroom in the middle, Quinn’s room on the right, and Mia’s room on the left. If it were anyone else, Quinn would probably find herself uncomfortable with the intensity in which she’s taking in the place without even moving too far beyond the front door. But it’s Rachel, and the action seems so genuine. 

In a moment, Rachel is done with her observations, which she makes known by turning her whole body in Quinn’s direction. Her face breaks into a huge smile. “It’s so cute,” she notes. 

Quinn blushes. “Thanks. I’m lucky to have Mia, because we kind of see eye to eye on the decor. You wouldn’t think so, when you meet her, but it worked out well.” She pauses. “So, the kitchen’s over there,” she points, “and our rooms are down that hallway. I wasn’t sure what would be comfortable for you, so I actually haven’t set up yet. San normally just sleeps in my bed with me—“ 

Rachel cuts her off. “I’m surprised you allow that. She’s awful to sleep with, truly. It’s like sharing a bed with the Grinch. She’s so grumpy the entire time, and I’ve ended up on the floor before because she claims the entire bed.” 

They both laugh. “You’re not wrong,” Quinn agrees. “But I’ve dealt with it for a long time. Anyway, my bed is a queen, so there’s room for both of us… but I didn’t want to assume that was okay. I can also set up a blow-up mattress, either in the living room or on my floor.” 

Rachel mulls over the question for a second. “You’re okay with sharing a bed?” 

Quinn, for her part, chokes a bit on her response, which is ridiculous, considering it was her offer originally. “Of course, Berry. Like you said, it can’t be any worse than Santana. You can decide later, if you want.” 

Nodding, Rachel places her hand on the suitcase Quinn has rolled inside. “Where should I put this for now?” 

“We’ll take it to my room.” Quinn’s hand immediately reaches to replace Rachel’s, silently cursing her family’s heavy emphasis on hosting manners when their hands end up overlapping on the handle. She wants to pull away, because suddenly it almost feels as though she’s placed her hand right into a fire, but she doesn’t want to scare Rachel. They’ve been friendly for years, and yet Quinn finds herself still wary of accidentally hurting the girl’s feelings. The move could be misinterpreted as disgust, and even the idea makes Quinn’s heart twist, so she leaves her hand there and instead ends up pulling Rachel along with the suitcase into her bedroom. 

The room is similarly decorated as the rest of the house, but with an airy feel to it, mostly due to the window’s wide open blinds allowing the late afternoon sun to filter into the space. The light wood furniture— a bed, dresser, and desk— doesn’t match exactly, but in a way that makes the space feel homey rather than clashing, and her white duvet cover makes the bed look— and feel— like a cloud. Quinn is suddenly glad she spent more time than usual tidying up— not that she isn’t usually clean, but she definitely makes use of the space. 

When Quinn looks at Rachel, she sees a range of emotions flicker across her face: processing, then curiosity, then something else she can’t fully decipher, and finally, a lopsided grin. 

“Your room is very _you_ , Quinn.” 

It’s an unexpected comment, not even necessarily a compliment, but coming from Rachel it warms Quinn’s heart. “I try. I mean, it’s all I have, so I might as well make the space mine, right?” She wants to add that it’s all she’s allowed herself to have since her parents disowned her the second time, but she’s not really ready for that conversation yet, so she just checks the time on her phone instead. “We have a little over two hours until we need to be at the theater, which should be perfect. There’s only one bathroom here, so do you want to get ready first? I put out a set of towels for you if you want to shower.”

Rachel seems a little surprised by the basic gesture, which hurts Quinn, because she knows exactly why. Still, she relaxes at the response, “That’s perfect, Quinn. Thank you for being a wonderful host.” 

Cheeks turning pink already, Quinn ducks her head down and mumbles, “Anything for you, Berry.” 

xx

When Quinn hears Rachel turn the shower on, she gets to work in the kitchen. As nice as it would be to go out to dinner, she knows they’ll save time eating at home. And, besides, she finds that she selfishly wants to keep Rachel to herself for a little while. Even in the last three years of brief visits to New York, she’s always split her attention between Santana, Kurt, and Rachel (sometimes Brittany and Blaine, too) and she feels a little guilty about it. 

Plus, she knows she’s at least decent in the kitchen from the responses of her friends, particularly Mia, who practically squeals any time Quinn tries out a new recipe. Over the course of her time at Yale, she’s become a little less dependent on meat anyway (Mia went through a short but intense period of vegetarianism), but even so she made sure to stock the fridge and pantry with food for Rachel’s visit. 

She’s just finishing up the prep and sliding the food into the warmed oven when the bathroom door creaks open and Rachel steps out. Even without makeup, she finds the girl knocks the breath out of her. She’s wearing a simple long sleeved white dress, cut around the knees and perfect for the season. Her feet patter on the wooden floors as peeks into Quinn’s room, realizes the blonde isn’t there, and then makes her way to the kitchen. “I wasn’t really sure what to bring for tonight, and you didn’t mention a specific dress code, so I went for something similar to what I’d wear to a Broadway theater, which now I’m realizing might be a little bit too much for tonight, so I can change if—“

Quinn surprises even herself when she reaches out for both of Rachel’s hands and holds them gently, forcing the her to make eye contact. “Rachel, you look perfect.” 

Rachel, seemingly taken aback, hesitates for a moment before drawing Quinn into a hug that maybe lasts a second longer than it should. “Thank you, Quinn.”

Finally, the two pull apart. “If you still need some time to get ready, that’s fine. I’m going to jump in the shower too, so you can use my bedroom for makeup or anything. Can you keep an eye on the food? It should be okay, but just in case.”

Laughing, Rachel responds, “I’m not sure it’s going to fare any better just because of my watchful gaze. I’m an awful cook. I’ll do my best, though.”

“Burn the food, and we’ll be eating takeout at 10pm,” Quinn threatens jokingly. She reaches out to touch Rachel’s arm, her thumb quickly grazing over the sleeve of the dress. Then, she goes to shower. 

It’s there, with the water running down her back, that her head really starts to spin. It’s no secret that Rachel brings out something… unique, in Quinn. That’s been the case for quite a while, and once she got over her ridiculous teenage queen bee years, she found that the feeling somehow became even more dangerous. Until she started at Yale, she hadn’t really understood why that was the case, thinking that it was probably just the intensity the two had always shared. 

Boy, was she wrong about that one. 

Wrong about a lot of things, if she’s being honest.

But of all the people in the world, the girl probably standing in her bedroom right now might be the least attainable. For one thing, she’s definitely straight, and she also doesn’t even know about Quinn’s own realized sexuality. Not many people really do. 

The scalding hot water does nothing to curb her thoughts of Rachel, so she eventually gives in and turns the water cold, hoping to shock herself out of the feeling. 

It doesn’t work, and when she steps out of the shower she feels her entire body flushing with a warmth that can only be attributed to one person. 

Quinn realizes too late that she’s forgotten her clothes in the bedroom. She’s not usually used to having someone else to consider, Santana and Mia excluded, and they’ve both definitely seen her naked. She groans, but wraps herself in a large white towel, which she secures as tightly as possible to avoid any mishaps. 

Rachel, for her part, is exactly where Quinn thought she’d be— sitting at the desk, mirror at eye level, finishing up her makeup. If Quinn thought she looked good in just the dress, she has to stop the thoughts that take over at the sight of Rachel’s smoky eyes and light pink lipstick. “Um, sorry, I forgot my clothes,” she stumbles. “Just give me a second.” She grabs everything and runs out of the room before Rachel can even respond. 

Eventually, the bathroom door opens again, now with Quinn stepping out in deep blue dress pants and a low cut white blouse, complete with just enough makeup to make her feel like a real adult. The dinner is a rushed ordeal, only because they need to make their way to campus before the production begins and they’ve spent longer than expected getting ready. They eat in mostly silence, with exception of Rachel’s— relatively frequent— comments about how incredible the food turned out. The compliments make Quinn glow, but she teases Rachel anyway. 

As they’re wrapping up, Quinn realizes that she’s forgotten to divulge important information for the night. She clears her throat, a noise that seems to break through the quiet of the room. “So, I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but that play tonight… It’s actually mine.”

Rachel gasps dramatically. “What? _Quinn Fabray_ . We’re going to see _your_ play that starts in half an hour and you chose to mention that only now?? How am I supposed to prepare for this?” She stands up with her hands on her head, scraping her chair back against the floor in the process. “I would have… done something! I would have bought you flowers! I’m the worst friend ever, oh my god, how could you let me show up empty handed—” 

Quinn isn’t exactly sure what response she expected, but it wasn’t this. “Rachel. Rach. Rachel. Berry,” she keeps trying to cut off the impending spiral. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I was just nervous…” Suddenly, she catches a glimmer in Rachel’s eyes, and her words slow to a stop. At this, Rachel can’t hold back a grin, which cracks almost immediately into a huge smile. “Rachel.”

“Quinn.”

She can’t help smiling back. “Rachel.”

Quinn watches intently as Rachel reaches into her small purse, eventually pulling out a small box and sliding it across the table in her direction. “Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to practice my notable acting skills. Santana told me last week. I wanted to wait for you to tell me yourself, because clearly you were keeping the news for a specific moment, but it’s true that I also would never want to come unprepared.”

The box sits on the table until Rachel nods again in that direction, prompting Quinn to pick it up. She unties the light green ribbon, nimbly opening the lid, and to her embarrassment her eyes immediately fill with tears. “Rach,” she breathes. 

Rachel just smiles back at her, speaking softly. “It’s a gardenia, kind of, but I knew that a whole one wouldn’t survive the trip. So… I thought this might be better.” 

And she’s right. It’s a necklace— a single gardenia petal pressed into resin in an oval-shaped pendant, held together by a thin gold frame. Quinn holds the matching gold chain in her hands, noticing their slight shake. “This is beautiful,” she manages to finally say. “You—“ 

“Quinn, I’m so proud of you.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet. Maybe it’s the worst play you’ll ever see.” Quinn smiles, but it’s a little sad. She can’t even bear to look up, knowing she’ll see Rachel’s deep brown eyes searching for her own. “I just wanted to tell you in advance, because… some of it’s going to feel familiar to you, and some of it won’t.” She shifts in her seat, but Rachel just places her hand on top of her own that’s still gripping the necklace. 

“It’s going to be great, because it’s you. And you’ve never been anything less.” 

Suddenly the air feels too heavy, and Quinn’s sure that the conversation is over even though there are many things left unsaid. So they both stand up, gather their plates, and get ready to leave. Before they go, though, Quinn does two things. First, she catches Rachel leaving the kitchen and draws her into a quick, tight hug, whispering, “Thank you,” in her ear. Then, she goes to the bathroom and places her new necklace around her neck, catching the lock with one swift gesture. 

After the girls check to make sure all of the lights are off, Quinn pulls a waiting Rachel out of the house with one hand. For a moment beyond the door step, she considers whether or not to let go. When she does, mostly to open Rachel’s passenger door again, it suddenly feels as though she’s lost a part of herself she may not be able to get back. 

“ _God, I’m screwed,_ ” Quinn thinks.   
  


* * *

**Author’s Note:** I’ll be honest, when I started this story I didn’t really expect to take this route. It was originally going to be much more fast-paced. However, the more time I spend on it, the more I’m appreciating what it means to slow down. I hope it feels a little like you’re experiencing the weekend right along with Quinn and Rachel. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. :)


	5. I Think of Home

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay with this one! I started back at work after the holidays, and was just generally struggling with writer's block. I hope it ends up being worth the wait :)

* * *

_ “I think of us, just silly kids _

_ I bet we thought we'd never age _

_ And if we did we'd never dare say” _

_ -Snow Patrol  _

* * *

Rachel and Quinn arrive at the Yale theater exactly on time, which is about an hour before the actual show. There’s a cute reception going on in the theater lobby, so college students and professors alike are milling about, many with a glass of wine or bottle of beer in hand. The lighting is low, but Rachel is still impressed at the number of people in attendance. It’s definitely a larger event than Quinn let on, and as she looks over at her date, she thinks she understands why. Quinn is clearly a little nervous, but only someone who was looking closely would be able to catch the way she keeps rubbing her fingers together on her left hand. Even when the blonde orders both of them a glass of wine (and promptly downs most of hers in the most graceful way possible), and when the pair chats with some of Quinn’s peers—all of whom gush about her work— the movement continues. 

Despite keeping a watchful eye on Quinn, Rachel finds herself caught up in the flurry of the night fairly quickly. They barely have a moment to themselves to talk, because Quinn is constantly approached by someone ready with a congratulatory message on their lips. Under normal circumstances, it would be a little bit overwhelming, and if she was with anyone else she might feel a little out of the loop. But each person that walks toward them has Quinn leaning just slightly into Rachel and whispering some sort of crash course on the individual, and the gesture makes her feel  _ seen _ . 

“That’s Kat; she’s a film writer. One of the best on campus.” 

“Jeremiah used to be in the program, but he switched his major after the first year. He still comes to support his boyfriend, Austin. He’s the tall one in the show; you’ll know him when you see him.”

“Hannah is one of the understudies. Her audition was pretty great, but she was up against some amazing competition. Nothing compared to you, though.” This particular comment makes Rachel’s heart skip a beat or two. 

“Jordan and Mitchell are also actors. They’re roommates, and really great guys, but they can never keep a girlfriend. It’s... why they’re still roommates.” 

“Mr. Powell teaches a Shakespeare course. It was one of the best classes I’ve taken so far, but he’s intense. Not many people pass that class the first time. Who knew Shakespeare could be so infuriating?”

For every person she’s introduced to, Rachel gets more of the idea that everyone in the room somehow knows Quinn or wants to know her. As someone who finds herself always working a room (trying to suck up, as Santana so lovingly puts it), she’s impressed but unsurprised by the way Quinn seems to command attention without looking for it. In fact, Rachel realizes pretty quickly that Quinn would be just as happy as a wallflower. She’s always subdued in her interactions, although she makes an effort to include Rachel in the conversations. There’s so many ways she could choose to introduce the brunette, especially after years apart, but she always goes with the same line— “This is Rachel Berry, my friend from high school. She’ll be on Broadway next year”— as if it’s a universal truth that shouldn’t be questioned. 

Each introduction has Rachel moving closer and closer to Quinn’s side in an attempt to show a silent appreciation for all of it. They’re sharing a second glass of wine between them— a decision to avoid either of them getting too buzzed while allowing Quinn to calm her nerves some more— when a woman bounces excitedly toward them. She’s tall and tanned, with raven-black hair that sits at shoulder length similar to Quinn’s, and is dressed in a stunning olive jumpsuit paired with black heels and a black biker jacket. 

“Q!,” the girl shouts, almost from across the entire lobby, and Rachel gets the feeling she cares very little when more than a handful of eyes turn in her direction. She glances up at Quinn’s face, expecting to see the same calm demeanor she’s given off all night, and is surprised to see Quinn’s face broken into one of the widest smiles she’s ever seen the blonde sport. She doesn’t even have time to whisper any context to Rachel before a body appears in front of them, enveloping Quinn in a hug that almost knocks both of them over. When they break apart, Rachel sticks her hand out for the impending introduction, only to be wrapped in her own strong hug. “Um, hi,” she says, completely caught off guard. 

At the sound of Rachel’s voice, the girl jumps back, and Rachel can once again see Quinn’s (still grinning) face behind her. “Rach, this is Mia, my roommate. Mia, I’d introduce Rachel to you, but I’m sure she can tell you already know who she is. That, or she thinks you’re insane.”

Mia laughs, the sound floating around them. “Not insane, just so proud of you.” She turns to Rachel. “And so happy to finally meet you, Rachel Berry. I’ve heard lots about you.”

The entire reaction is a little unexpected, to say the least, but Rachel’s acting chops have her recovering quickly, so she manages a comment in Quinn’s direction. “A lot about me, huh?” She watches as Quinn’s neck turns a deep shade of red, but it’s Mia who answers again. 

“Oh, you’re her favorite. She never shuts up about you.” 

Rachel can’t help but chuckle when she hears Quinn’s throat clear abruptly. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mia. I appreciate you letting me stay in your beautiful home.” 

“Oooh,” Mia drawls, “Pretty  _ and _ respectful. Keep it up, and you can come back every weekend.” 

It’s something they haven’t talked about, really, because in the whirlwind of their handful of hours together there’d been no reason yet to think about what would happen when Rachel went home. God, New York. Nothing has ever even remotely compared to her love for the city... and yet tonight, she feels a world away, and for once it’s not a bad thing. There’s something relaxing about being in Quinn and Mia’s presence, watching the two bicker lovingly over the topic of Mia’s artwork. Apparently, she designed the playbill art, and that idea warms her heart. She’s yet to see the playbill, or even really learn much about the play she’s about to see besides the out-of-context comments from Quinn’s peers this evening. 

Her wandering thoughts are cut off suddenly by Quinn, who places her hand so gently on Rachel’s shoulder that her body almost doesn’t process the touch. “Sorry, you two,” she starts, but she’s really only looking at Rachel, “I have to go backstage for a few minutes. Apparently I’m supposed to give a pep talk or something that writers do.” She squeezes Rachel’s shoulder gently before making her way to the back of the lobby. 

Mia waits until Quinn is out of earshot to roll her eyes, a kind smile taking over her face. “She acts like she’s not excited about this.” 

Rachel is inclined to agree, if Quinn’s anxious hand movements give her anything to go on. “She’s always been this way.” She frowns slightly. “I never could tell if she couldn’t see her own talent, or if she was being modest for everyone else’s sake.” It’s probably a lot to tell a virtual stranger, but something tells her she can trust Mia. 

“I’ve lived with Quinn for a long time, and I’ll tell you a secret,” Mia says, leaning so close to Rachel she can smell the girl’s unique scent of flowers and...is that paint? “I still don’t really have an answer.”

The joke is enough to end any lingering awkwardness from being left alone, so they spend the next few minutes with Mia just glancing around happily at the audience— taking in all of the people there for Quinn’s showpiece, Rachel imagines, since she did the same when they walked in earlier— and Rachel absentmindedly swirls her wine in her glass. 

It’s not long before the sound of double doors opening has Mia and Rachel looking up at the same time, and Rachel yelps when Quinn’s energetic roommate is suddenly pulling her through the crowd in an effort to slip through to the theater before a line forms. Somehow, despite being the artist of the playbill, Mia seems more disinterested in the usher’s outstretched hand than she is in finding their seats, so Rachel grabs two on her way in, almost crashing head on into Mia’s backside when the girl takes a hard break right before their row. 

When they settle, they leave a space in between them for Quinn. Mia turns her entire torso in Rachel’s direction, asking her questions about NYADA, living in New York, her friends— anything other than high school. It’s an active choice, probably, out of respect for Rachel and Quinn’s shared past that she surely already knows in detail. 

It’s quite a few minutes later that Rachel finally gets around to glancing at the program— and takes a deep breath. The artwork is both stunning and dark in its water color style, showing two females, one of high school age and one noticeably younger, standing so their silhouetted profiles are almost back to back. The show’s title,  _ Fountain Street _ , doesn’t give much insight into the plot. 

“You did this?,” she asks Mia in awe.

Mia nods excitedly. “It was all Quinn’s vision, really, but she let me make some creative choices with the design.” 

Rachel feels a sense of camaraderie with this girl whose eyes light up just  _ talking _ about her art. She wants to ask more questions— about the art itself, and the show, and Quinn’s four years out of Lima— but Quinn herself appears unexpectedly from Rachel’s left, and she plops down unceremoniously and with a light-hearted huff. “Who knew pep talks could be so much work?” 

Rachel is the unsuspecting audience of a knowing wink as Quinn is reminded that of course Rachel would, in fact, know. The action brings back a flash of memories of Glee competitions, and Rachel is reminded that even when everyone else wasn’t interested in her speeches, Quinn was, every time, eyes almost piercing her soul as she nodded along to every word. Rachel is beyond happy to finally play the supportive role between the two of them. 

The lights start to dim before either Rachel or Mia can respond, and Rachel squeals softly, bouncing around in excitement. She can barely draw her eyes away from the stage, but then she sees it— the subtle movement of Quinn’s fingers in an attempt to soothe her own nerves. Without thinking, she reaches her own right hand across the seat and rests it on Quinn’s, who stills immediately.

Quinn’s smile can be seen in the dark before she even turns to look Rachel’s way, but when she does… 

For a moment, their gazes lock, and Rachel isn’t sure how to process whatever it is that’s happening between them. She just lets it be, allowing herself for once to be a passive observer in her own existence, and she’s never felt so light and heavy at the same time. 

Then the stage lights up, and the orchestra is playing, and both of them look away at once. 

It’s for the best, really. Because the next hour of Rachel’s life is full of breathtaking moments, all of which start and end with Quinn. 

Xx

There is applause, and a standing ovation, and then people are filtering out of the theater, but Rachel feels locked in place. 

She knows she looks a little ridiculous, her mouth still slightly agape at what went on in front of her, mascara running from the  _ many _ tears that have fallen, and yet she can’t even find it in herself to care. 

Then, she feels a bop on her nose, and she breaks out of her trance long enough to find Quinn and Mia both looking at her amusedly. She almost feels embarrassed, but it’s clear that those two have shed quite a few tears themselves. 

“Is she alive?,” Mia jokes. 

“I think we’d know otherwise, right?,” Quinn quips right back. 

Rachel laughs wetly and nudges Quinn in return. “Lucy Quinn Fabray… I reckon you’ve managed to render me speechless.”

And it’s true. 

Xx

The play was everything it ever could have been. 

The story starts with a young, high-school aged girl that at first glance could have been a depiction of Quinn. But it can’t be, because as similar as the two could have been, this girl had so much that Quinn never did. A loving, supportive adoptive family, an open interest in geeky things like Star Wars and video games, and an undying— but not unrequited— crush on her girl best friend. 

Then, the story seems to twist inward on itself, and the audience is looking at the opening scene once more. Only, this time there’s a new blonde, clad in a cheerleading uniform, trying her best to fake some semblance of happiness in the picture-perfect world she’s built around herself. 

It becomes clear fairly quickly that the story is never meant to be a chronological one, weaving in and out of some timeless fabric, bringing both of these characters abruptly into moments of heartache, love, anger, and every feeling in between.

In the first act, it seems that these girls are just two people, existing in the world at the same time, as unaware of each other as any strangers would be. By the second, however, they find themselves struggling with the same age-old existential questions:  _ “Who loves me?” _ and  _ “How will I know?” _ and  _ “How will I find happiness if I never find out?” _

Then, there’s the last scene. The two girls are standing back to back, their side profile facing the audience while they each speak a monologue, unaware of the body behind them. It’s only at the last line, with the cheerleader rubbing one hand over her protruding stomach, and the other girl looking longingly at a picture of an older woman in her hand, that everyone realizes the girl is the cheerleader’s daughter, and each moment has actually taken place fifteen years apart. 

_ “You have to know I love you now. In this light, how could I not?” _

Xx

They sit in almost pure silence on the way home, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s only the two of them— Mia’s taking her own car home, since she’d walked over to the theater from the art building— and the actress in Rachel has a million questions, but the other other, larger part of her just wants to bask in the moment she’s able to share with Quinn. 

It’s only when they pull into the driveway again, the house still quiet upon their arrival, that someone speaks. To Rachel’s surprise, it’s actually Quinn, and she knows to latch on to every word. 

“I had the idea my freshman year, before I even knew I wanted to be a playwright. I didn’t have the skills to really make it anything at the time, but I just needed to get it onto paper,” she continues, and Rachel can hear the melancholy behind her words. “It was hard, leaving Beth. I can still see her— I have, a few times— but it felt like it hurt more than it was worth.”

“Right now, the hurt is just mine to carry, but I started to think about what it would be like when she was old enough to feel it, too. I also... hated the idea of somehow getting in between you and Shelby, after everything. Every time I was there, it was like a reminder of you, for both of us. Especially after you—,” she stops herself, but all the words she could have said still hang between them.  _ You never visited. You didn’t want to see me. You took that ticket and you lost it in a drawer. You. _

“Oh, Quinn,” Rachel breathes, because she can’t think of anything else to say, and it would never be enough anyway. 

Luckily, Quinn just continues, barreling on as if it’s the first time in a long time someone’s sat in front of her long enough to really listen. “I didn’t know what to do, for a long time. But I was sitting in my dorm room two years later, and Mia was blasting Snow Patrol, and this one song just stuck with me. I heard it, and I’m pretty sure Mia eventually wanted to kill me in my sleep because I asked her to play it again at least five times before I remembered I could just download it on my own phone,” she chuckles. 

“It’s just about the nostalgia of home, and thinking of everything that you wouldn’t even know was possible to miss until you  _ do _ , and I realized that everything I felt about Beth was tied to the idea of my own family. I wasn’t bound to disappoint her just because I couldn’t always be with her. Leaving isn’t the worst thing that family can do. It’s leaving, and then staying away until you wonder if they’ve ever loved you in the first place.” 

Rachel knows she’ll never understand Quinn’s specific experience with Beth, but she relates to that sentiment. It’s what Shelby did to her, the first and second time around. 

“The play’s title and the last line of the monologue are from the song. I don’t even know if that’s legal,” Quinn laughs, “but I tried so many others and nothing else really fit. I figured I could get away with it here. It might be Yale, but it’s still a student production.”

“What about everywhere else?”

Quinn tilts her head in confusion, which leads to Rachel feeling shy. She bites her lip. “You know. Like Broadway? Off-Broadway? Miami or Chicago or London? Will you have to change the line when the play is picked up?”

It could be a compliment, but really, Rachel just says what she thinks is already undeniable. Quinn is brilliant, this story is brilliant, and she quite frankly might land this on the big stage before Rachel makes her own debut. 

If it were anyone else, she might be jealous, but it’s  _ Quinn _ . 

Who blinks, quite a few times, and then throws her arms around Rachel, pulling her close. They’re leaning over the middle console, and Rachel thinks she can distantly feel the seat belt buckle pressing into her side, but nothing could make her pull away from this. 

Except Mia’s headlights, followed by her horn blaring. They both jump, and Quinn bumps her head on the rearview mirror somehow. They barely make eye contact before they both burst into laughter, Quinn’s hand on Rachel’s shoulder and Rachel’s hand on Quinn’s soon-to-be head bump. It’s how Mia finds them, and when she knocks on the window she’s unsurprised at the middle finger she receives in return. 

Something about Mia’s raised eyebrow and knowing smirk as she walks toward the house should clue Rachel in to the inevitable. The brunette misses all of it, though, her eyes still locked on Quinn. 


	6. Time Won't Go Slowly

_ "And this could be the end of everything outside our walls  
And empires could fall away and cities razed  
And I know I'd only wanna fall in love with you"  _

_ -Snow Patrol _

* * *

“She’s nice,” Mia starts. It’s barely been a minute since Rachel shut the bathroom door to start her nighttime routine, and Quinn and Mia are lounging in the living room while patiently waiting their turn. Well, Quinn is patient. Mia is being her usual self. 

The two of them are relaxing on the same couch, Quinn sitting with her feet up on the coffee table while Mia stretches out, her feet on Quinn’s lap. This is their typical routine— it has been since the first time Mia so casually shoved her feet onto Quinn only a week into living together freshman year. Quinn’s actually pretty proud of herself for the progress she’s made since then, although she’d never acknowledge it aloud. It took a long time for her to not want to _run_ every time Mia showed her affection, and she swears to this day that her daily neck pains are the result of all her built-up tension. Now, she barely thinks twice of it, and they’ve spent quite a bit of time in this exact position over the last four years. 

It’s also the perfect position for retaliation in response to Mia’s antics. The girl absolutely screeches when Quinn tickles her foot, causing the blonde to throw her head back in laughter. “Don’t start with me, M.” 

Mia is all innocence, batting her eyes at Quinn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just said she’s nice.” 

Quinn has to agree. “Should I be worried about leaving you two alone when it’s my turn for the bathroom?” 

“Never,” Mia drawls, shoving Quinn with her left foot when she spots Quinn’s raised eyebrow. “I’m serious! I’m not about to get in your business. I’m just here as your best, most loyal, loving roommate. A fly on the wall, one might say.”

“One might, but one won’t,” Quinn debates. “Also, you’re my only roommate. Don’t let it get to your head.” 

“Oh, I can’t. My doctor already told me I was born with a larger than normal head. Anything more and I might float away.” 

“Really, you can barely tell some of the time.”

That comment gets her another kick, and before long Quinn is chasing Mia around the apartment with threats of more tickling. “Q, no!” Mia shrieks, but the blonde is too fast. “ _Rachel!_ Help me! Save me!” She runs straight toward the bathroom at the same time a frenzied Rachel opens the door and ends up plowing directly into the unsuspecting girl. It’s Quinn who reaches out to steady them both, keeping her hand on Rachel’s shoulder for a moment longer than necessary. She’s worried that Rachel will get all huffy after this run-in, if her high school self is anything to go by, but instead both roommates end up on the receiving end of a grin. “The bathroom’s free, children. Duel over it when I’ve made it to safety.” 

Somehow, Quinn wins out with her HBIC glare and reappears less than ten minutes later, face washed and free from makeup. To her surprise, the living room is empty and the lights are off. Assuming Mia retreated into her room to change— or start another all-night painting binge, more likely— Quinn makes her way back to her bedroom. 

The sight of Rachel Berry on her bed, leaning back against the headboard and scrolling through her phone is enough to make Quinn pause and take in the sight. She suddenly has to repress an urge to snap a photo at the scene. 

It’s only when she readjusts against the doorframe, causing the old house to shift just a tiny amount, that Rachel looks up and catches her gaze. There it is again, that soft smile. “Quinn. I didn’t see you there.” She hesitates, then pats the bed. “I hope it’s appropriate that I climbed in before you. It’s just been such a long day,” she yawns, “and your bed might truly be a gift from God.” 

Quinn smiles. “I spend more time there than I like to admit, and a nice mattress was needed after three years of dorm beds.” Her hand moves to her neck at just the thought and she rubs unconsciously at the ever-present knot. “That and being hunched over a desk for half of college are the reasons I have the body of an old lady at the ripe age of twenty-one.”

Rachel looks like she’s thinking. “Come here.” 

“What?” Quinn can’t help but question. 

Chuckling, Rachel reaches her hand out toward Quinn and drops her phone onto the bedside table. “Years of Cassandra July absolutely destroying my sense of happiness and self worth with her dance classes have led one skill, at least. I like to think I’m pretty good with my hands.” 

Quinn lets out a small choking sound. “Be careful, Berry.” Her voice is thick and unfamiliar, even to herself. “Someone might take that the wrong way.”

Poor Rachel’s eyes widen. “Not like that, Quinn. Unbelievable. You Ivy leaguers and your dirty minds.”

Quinn just shrugs and settles onto the bed in front of Rachel. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

And, oh my god, Rachel wasn’t kidding. 

There’s no reason to really believe she _would_ be, but still, two minutes in and Quinn is squirming underneath Rachel’s fingers. She doesn’t think she’d be able to stop any noise from leaving her body, but she can disguise much of it as pain. Rachel starts at her neck and manages to loosen the knot in ways Quinn’s never managed to do. Then, she moves to her shoulders, tracing along her shoulder blades until she finds the spot where she wants to be and works through the tension there. It’s when she slides both hands down her back— thumbs pressing along either side of her spine until they’re massaging just above her tailbone— that Quinn can’t help herself. She lets out a soft moan and jumps at her own noise, backing away from the touch. 

There’s a second of awkward silence before Quinn promptly face plants into her bed, letting out an embarrassed chuckle. She can’t bear to look at Rachel, so she cracks a joke instead. “Those _are_ pretty talented hands,” she mumbles directly into the mattress. 

She expects a laugh from her friend, but when nothing comes, she rolls herself over until she’s on her side. She feels flushed, and a little drunk even though the alcohol must have worn off hours ago, but damn it if she’s going to make this any more awkward than it needs to be. 

When she looks up, Rachel’s eyes are already locked on her. Her eyes are dilated and dark, and Quinn realizes belatedly it’s the same look she must be giving her in return. 

She’s not under any kind of pretense that Rachel is actually attracted to her— as far as she knows, the girl is about as straight as they come— and she makes the decision then to switch up the mood in the room before Quinn does anything that has Rachel running for the train station. She slides on her best smile but breaks eye contact, jumping off the bed. “Right, so, I meant to show you that song. The one from the play, I mean. Snow Patrol.” She grimaces at her own rambling. “Are you up for a listen? I know it’s late.” 

Rachel just nods, prompting Quinn to plug her phone into a small, black speaker on her bedside table. She scrolls to the song and hits play, sighing in relief as the music breaks through the silence of the room. 

Rachel is still sitting ramrod straight on the bed with some kind of unintelligible look in her eyes, but Quinn’s known the girl long enough to recognize her ‘music face’ when she sees it. Being in the Glee club meant associating with many people who claimed music as their passion, but only Rachel listens like she’s trying to absorb the music as a part of her. It’s mesmerizing, really, watching the girl shut her eyes and perk up at the first sound of vocals. 

_"I remember trips to Belfast_

_On a train that hugs the coast_

_The fields turn quickly into golf course_

_The golf course just as fast to fields"_

Quinn suddenly wants to pace, but she knows it’ll throw off Rachel’s _thing_ that she’s doing right now, so instead she sits back down on the bed, her legs hanging over the edge. 

_"Mistakes were made, let's leave it there_

_But there's one thing we can all agree on_

_There's beauty north, south, east, and west_

_There's beauty north, south, east, and west"_

She’s humming along under her breath, taking glances at Rachel every few seconds. This feels personal, somehow, and she’s almost relieved when the last chorus of the song comes through with the final notes. 

_"I think of home, I often do_

_You gotta know I love you now_

_In this light, how could I not?_

_I think of us, just silly kids_

_I bet we thought we'd never age_

_And if we did we'd never dare say"_

There’s a second before the next song from the band is automatically queued up where she hears Rachel sigh. It’s something Quinn’s always admired— like the music flows through her and leaves her breathless on its way back out. 

Quinn lowers the volume when the vocals come in for the next song. “It really is beautiful,” Rachel comments. “I know the lyrics remind you of Beth, but it’s a bit reminiscent of our time in high school, too, right?” 

Quinn nods. “It’s the line about being kids and thinking we wouldn’t age that stuck with me first. I think that so many of the mistakes we made wouldn’t have happened if we’d just thought about the future beyond the moment we were in.” 

Rachel hums, deep in thought. “I don’t think I’m entirely convinced that’s true,” she finally says. “It’s easiest to think that way, but have you ever considered the possibility that we’d never get where we are today without everything we’ve been through?” 

“I definitely have,” Quinn huffs, “but it’s hard to forgive myself that easily. I think it might just be the easy way out.”

“Quinn, you don’t have anything to forgive yourself for.” Quinn realizes that Rachel is glancing down at her hands and notices that she’s nervously rubbing her fingertips together. “You’ve more than made up for everything. Take my word for that. I wouldn’t be here if all wasn’t forgiven.” They both smile sadly because they know that’s not entirely the truth, but Quinn won’t question it. Not now, when Rachel is sitting criss-crossed on her bed, Snow Patrol plays softly in the background, and the side table lamp bathes the room in a soft light. 

“Your play really was beautiful, Quinn,” Rachel continues after a minute. “I know I’m a drama queen most of the time, but I mean it when I say I’ve never seen anything so amazing. The Broadway production of Wicked included,” she adds, which causes Quinn to roll her eyes. 

“Thank you for coming.” The words are soft coming from Quinn. “I don’t think you know what it means to have you here.”

Rachel drops her head. “I might have some idea. I… made a list, when I was much younger, with everyone I would save tickets for when I made it to my opening night on Broadway. At that point, it was just my dads. When I joined Glee, there was Finn,” she can’t help but laugh at Quinn’s lighthearted growl, “and then Kurt, Mr. Shue, and Santana and Mercedes on a good day.” This time they both laugh. “I didn’t admit it then, but you’ve had the number one spot since the day we met.”

Quinn wants so desperately to respond, but she just nods along as Rachel continues. “It may have been out of spite, at first, picturing you somewhere in the crowd, watching my success and wanting it to be your own. Or at least that’s what I told myself. I don’t know exactly when all of that changed for me, but one day I pictured you there smiling instead of scowling, and it’s all I wanted. Just to be recognized by you. All the Tony’s in the world, and I would have given them up to make you proud.” 

“I don’t know what that will feel like when it happens, yet, but I can imagine it’s something like what I felt tonight.” Rachel finally looks up at Quinn, and the blonde can see tears pooling in those brown eyes. “You’re amazing, Quinn. Truly.”

Quinn isn’t sure Rachel will ever really know the impact of her words, and in this instant that doesn’t even feel important. She just wants more of this— this open, honest, exceptionally kind Rachel Berry— as long as she can have it. All those pesky feelings be damned. She thinks she can hold back if it means she won’t lose Rachel in the process. 

So instead of saying all she wants to say— _I love you_ or _Stay forever_ or _I’m gay and I think I want your babies some day_ — she just slides in bed next to Rachel and gives her an awkward hug from the side. “Santana’s mad I invited you instead of her,” she mumbles. “She wouldn’t come the same weekend because she said she didn’t want to share a bed and end up in a double homicide situation.”

Rachel’s laugh in response fills every empty space inside her. “Tell her to get over herself and come to tomorrow’s show. Actually, on second thought, I’ll tell her,” Rachel continues, reaching for her phone and shooting off a quick text. “There. If it were up to me, everyone would be here to see this masterpiece. But like I said, it’ll end up on Broadway next year anyway.” 

It’d be easy to argue with anyone else, but this is Rachel Berry, and Quinn can’t help that she somehow knows something about the world that everyone else doesn’t. At that thought, she leans over to press a risky but chaste kiss to Rachel’s cheek. “Thank you, Rach. You do know this means you’ll be dragged into see the show a second time, right?” 

“That was part of my plan.” 

As much as Quinn would love to stay awake talking to this girl into all hours of the night, she knows they should probably get to sleep when Rachel yawns five times in the span of ten minutes. 

“I’m perfectly awake, Quinn,” Rachel defends weakly through another yawn. 

By the time the clock hits eleven thirty, though, Rachel’s sleeping breath seems to harmonize with the soft sounds of “Time Won’t Go Slowly”, the music almost forgotten on shuffle in the background. 

Quinn, on the other hand, fights sleep for a whole extra hour, choosing just to watch Rachel instead. Never in her life would she have imagined this absolute bombshell of a human to look so peaceful, and that thought makes her smile. There are so many moments in the past few hours alone that she wishes she could just exist in forever. 

So many, and undeniably more to come. 

* * *

**Author's Note:** A little bit of a fluff- and a lot more of Quinn- for your reading pleasure. :) If you're looking for something to tide you over 'til the next chapter, feel free to check out the first chapter of my newest fic, 'Always Where I Need to Be'. 


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